


Soon It Will Be Cold Enough to Build Fires

by Marasa



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Autumn, Bauhaus - Freeform, Bisexual, Crushing, Cuddling, Cussing, Cute, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Goth - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Multi, Poly, Polyamory, Smoking, goth kids - Freeform, high school sweethearts, polyamorous, theyre really adorable together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: It's a wonder that they work together. It still confuses Pete sometimes.





	Soon It Will Be Cold Enough to Build Fires

It's getting colder.

Pete had been begging for colder weather after a hot summer in South Park that made wearing black and leather absolutely torturous, but of course, now that the leaves were falling and the temperature dropped twenty degrees every night, he realizes just how much he isn’t ready.

He wishes he could focus on the notebook in his lap but he’s shivering too much. He hasn't written anything actually good. It's mostly just dark scribbles of crossed out sentences that sound straight out of Twilight rather than out of the depths of despair he usually occupies.

“How’s it coming?”

Pete looks up to see his boyfriend walking barefoot around the living room, without his coat no less. Pete’s in a cardigan and skinny jeans with two pairs of fuzzy socks and he's still cold.

He ponders that perhaps it's somehow because of Michael’s six-foot-two height that naturally makes him a walking heater.

“Fucking shitty,” Pete grumbles, throwing his pen onto the coffee table and wrapping his arms around himself. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine thirty,” Michael sighs.

Pete groans and lets his head lean back on the back of the sofa. He hates having to wait for their boyfriend but he’ll just have to deal with it.

Stan’s doing good. He’s bettering himself.

Still, the freezing goth wishes the arms around him right now weren’t his own but Stan’s instead.

Stan leaves the house every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night to attend classes at the community college while his other two boyfriends stay at home missing him, smoking and drinking coffee and writing poetry.

It's a wonder that they work together. It still confuses Pete sometimes.

They had met Stan when he was at rock bottom.

Newly broken up with and with no joy in his life, he had joined the goths. It came as a surprise at first when a moderately popular kid hang out with them but he was cute and Michael and Pete couldn't not let him hang out.

It happened quickly. Stan had ditched the blue hat for a black one, embraced the eyeliner, fallen completely into the goth lifestyle with surprising ease.

Pete and Michael had fallen completely too.

They didn't expect it to happen, it just did.

Stan Marsh was always lumped in with Eric Cartman and the other trouble makers, forever to be known as ‘those guys’ who made life in a small mountain town hell- Marsh was annoying by default.

But apart from his stupid friends, the goths had gotten to know Stan, or rather, ‘Raven,’ as actually less annoying than initially thought.

They had late night talks at Perkins and listened to depressing, synthy new-wave music. Michael had helped the new goth better his poetry skills and found that spending quality time sitting incredibly close to him was nice. Pete had painted Stan’s nails one night and had never felt his heart beat faster than when the other boy’s hand was in his own.

It was strange. It was exciting. Pete was surprised to find that he kinda wanted to see Stan smile.

But just when they were getting to know him better and consider him a true friend, and just when Pete and Michael’s feelings of infatuation were blossoming, Stan had suddenly fucked off with some choice words, leaving the goths behind literally in the rain.

They didn’t think he was serious. Apathy or not, goths got emotional. Stan was surely having an off day, got too spun up in feelings of despair to think clearly.

But then the next day at school, Stan was back with his group of friends acting like he had never befriended the goths.

It gave them all whiplash and only fueled their sour opinion that everyone outside of their group were stupid, conformist assholes. Every day that passed where Stan didn’t even acknowledge them, Michael and Pete doubted that maybe they hadn’t been friends with Stan at all.

Then high school.

They saw Marsh in the halls all the time. He was a football player, even did a little time on the Student Council. Henrietta and Firkle had gotten over their failed friendship with him just as fast as it had started, acting as though they didn’t even know a ‘Stan Marsh’ to exist in South Park.

Michael and Pete couldn't let it go.

They whispered back and forth whenever they caught sight of him, saying how much of a poser he was, how stupid it was he had sold his soul in favor of school spirit, how dumb it was he was on the football team.

They both knew they didn't mean what they were saying but never called out the other on their bullshit.

Junior year, Michael and Pete got together.

It felt right. They loved each other’s writing, loved each other’s music preferences. Michael had been Pete’s first real friend, had quickly become his best friend. Michael was the one Pete called when he was having rough nights. Pete was the one Michael spent the most time with.

They loved each other and always had. They had their first kiss in a cemetery with a pack of cigarettes between them and their fingers laced together tightly.

They were happy. They were in love. They had each other and they didn’t need anything or anyone else.

And then Stan had gotten back together with Wendy.

Henrietta and Firkle were confused by the other two goth’s upset. They perceived the couple’s sudden quietness and general more pissy attitudes as a product of relationship problems, fighting or possibly near breakup.

But the truth was, Pete and Michael were closer than ever.

It was just that they were now deep in misery. A new misery.

This wasn't like the misery that caused them to like Edgar Allen Poe’s dronings or all things black and mysterious. This was the kind of misery that gravely hurt and that made them useless. This was the type of misery that made them want to cry.

It made one of them cry.

It was bittersweet, being in a few of the same classes as Stan Marsh. They were so close to their old friend and current crush but seeing him giggle and flirt with his beautiful girlfriend seated next to him was difficult.

It was a true tragedy that Pete couldn't focus on his favorite class, English, when Stan was only two seats away from him being so horrible in such an adorable way.

It had been a long morning of enduring the sight of the couple, which only left Pete feeling upset. By lunchtime, he was emotionally exhausted and quick to anger.

The goths had been picking at their food, doing their usual complaining when a few tables over, cheering and laughing erupted from the football team and other preps. They, along with everyone else in the lunchroom, turned at the noise only to see the torturous image of Stan kissing Wendy.

Pete hadn't even waited a second more to stand from his seat, hand balled up in Michael’s coat so he could tug him hurriedly out of the lunchroom.

Michael was led to the bathroom, to the last stall past confused freshmen standing at the sink. Pete locked the door behind them and then promptly lost it.

Pete was sobbing, choking on his breath, eyeliner smearing and dripping in the torrent of tears. Michael had tried soothing him, wiping his boy’s eyes with his thumb and planting kisses on his forehead, all the while shooting deadly looks through the door in the direction of the few voices that spoke, ‘ _fuckin’ crybaby goths_ ,’ until they left the bathroom, leaving them alone.

“Love,” Michael whispered against his forehead as he clutched the weeping boy to his chest, “why are you crying?”

“You know!” Pete cried. “What the fuck are you asking me for?! You know, you know!”

And Michael did know. But they had never talked about it.

“We’ve never talked about it,” Michael said, “but maybe it would help us if we did. We need to just admit it, Pete. To ourselves, each other.”

“I-It doesn't bother you?” Pete said. He couldn't bring himself to say the rest- ‘ _It doesn't bother you that I like, maybe love, someone else just as much as you?_ ’

“Does it bother you?” Michael said, even when the answer was obvious.

Pete whined.

“I feel… _guilty_ ,” he said, looking up with watery eyes, “I love you- I'm in love with you. You have my soul, Michael. I'm happy! I just...I feel guilty because I’m fucking crying even though I’m so happy being with you.”

“You don't need to feel guilty,” Michael says. “I understand, Pete. I understand because I feel the same way. I know you love me and I love you; please don't feel guilty. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Pete’s expression thankfully softened before turning into one of immense anger. This was exhausting.

“It doesn't make sense!” Pete shouted, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom. “He’s a fucking loser, prep, football-playing poser!” Pete fisted at his hair. “Why do I feel this way for such a stupid, selfish motherfucker?! He's the worst! I can't stand him, Michael! I hate him, I hate him!”

Michael was already soothing him with soft shushes, taking his fingers from his scalp before he could hurt himself.

“You don't really mean it,” Michael murmured, calling bullshit for the first time ever. “You don't mean it, do you?”

Pete choked on a sob. “No, I don't.” More tears streamed down his cheeks. “And I fucking hate that I don’t.”

He wiped his face, smearing his eye makeup before returning to rest against Michael’s chest.

“He was our friend but now he acts like he doesn't even know us,” Pete hiccuped. “He doesn’t even know how we fucking feel about him, not really.”

“I know it hurts. It’s understandable that it hurts, because we lost a friend, and never got that closure with him, never got to tell him our feelings,” Michael said. “Life is really fucking shitty sometimes but we just gotta get through it, and we will, together.”

“But it's hard.” Pete sniffled and wiped his drippy nose with the back of his hand. “Confusing...”

“We’ll get through this,” Michael sighed.

‘Get through this,’ as in, they'd learn how to deal with the fact that Stan would continue to completely forget them, marry his high school sweetheart and start a family in this God-forsaken town without ever knowing how they felt.

Pete and Michael were alone at a lunch table after school, Henrietta and Firkle off to some Art Club event twenty minutes away.

The pair decided to wait for them as Henrietta was their only ride and they didn't particularly like the idea of walking home in the snow when they could stay in the warm school building for a little while longer.

Pete was laying his head down on the table, still semi-miserable three days after his breakdown in the bathroom. It didn't help that Stan had kept looking at him in English that day but refused to say anything or even give him a small hello. It was weird and it hurt and it made Pete’s heart beat in that fucking terrible way.

Michael read a book and left him alone. He knew Pete needed his quiet, his alone time still with close by. Pete knew he could have read too, or written or done some homework but after another long and shitty day, he really didn't want to do anything else than just sit there face down on the table and try to sleep.

He was just beginning to nod off when a deep voice sounded to his left.

“Hey.”

Pete slowly turned his head, seeing Michael was already looking at the boy standing only a foot away. They stared dumbly.

Stan was tall, hair jet-black, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He looked between them, probably waiting for a hello they would never give. Maybe it was ill-will; more likely, it was their absolute shock.

“So…” Stan began awkwardly and both of the goth’s hearts melted despite their wishes to remain apathetic when it came to the likes of Stan Marsh.

Pete swallowed roughly.

This was going to hurt, wasn’t it? The dumbass standing beautiful and awkward and fit in front of them would say something shitty, something mean. He’d say that he was gonna beat their asses. He’d say they were fucking stupid for sticking with the goth thing after middle school. He’d say that they were losers.

“Would you like a ride home?” Stan said.

The goths looked at each other, perplexed.

There was a considerate pause of surprise and confusion. Then Michael moved, opening his mouth as though he would reject but the dreaded pitter patter of Pete’s heart and the warmth dusting his cheeks caused him to butt in.

“S-Sure.” Pete cleared his throat, tried to recover his cool. “I mean...whatever, yeah. That'd be cool.”

Stan smiled sweetly, softly. Pete swore he heard Michael groan in defeat.

They were completely quiet as Stan led them to his car in the mostly empty student parking lot this long after school ended.

He led them to a pickup truck, a deep blue one with a three seat bench. Being the shortest and smallest of the three, Pete found a seat in the middle seat, squeezed uncomfortably between Stan and Michael.

“All buckled up?” Stan said as he turned the ignition. The old car roared to life.

Both goths hummed, nodded, didn’t look at him.

It was uncomfortably quiet for a while. Pete’s hand had found Michael’s and even though they didn’t look at each other, they could feel their shared anxiety in the squeezes they gave each other’s fingers.

“You still live over by Kenny’s, right?” Stan asked.

“Kenny?” Michael said.

“McCormick,” Pete helped. Michael hummed.

“Yeah, I do,” Michael said. “We kinda both do.”

“You can drop us off both at Michael’s,” Pete said.

They stopped at a red light. Stan took the opportunity to glance over to his right at them. Pete couldn’t help but glance back.

Gray eyes, dark hair- God he was beautiful.

Pete swallowed again. Maybe this was a mistake. It was never too late for him to be an asshole. Maybe this was a setup.

The light turned green.

“So what were you doing at the school still?” Michael said.

“Oh, I had to do some English tutoring,” he said. “Failed the last test, had to make it up. What’d you get on it, Pete?”

Pete looked over at him. “A, uh...ninety-eight.”

“Dang!” Stan laughed, smiling brightly. “Not surprising, though. From what I remember, you used to write really good poetry and stuff.” He turned to him when they hit another red light. “Do you still write?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“That’s awesome,” Stan said. “You definitely have talent. I’d love to read some of your stuff, but of course, only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Pete felt like he was on fire. “Uh...maybe.”

Stan nodded, smiling. Michael squeezed his hand.

The silence returned but it was a little less tense. A few minutes passed before Stan was speaking up again.

“Michael.”

Michael looked over at him.

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Stan said, “but when we were in fourth grade, you introduced me to some new bands and music when we all used to hang out at your house and you gave me a CD by Bauhaus and I, uh, I actually still have it.”

“You do?” Michael said, sounding deeply surprised.

“Yeah,” Stan laughed. “This stupid car has a way old radio that only plays CDs, so I listen to it all the time. One of my favorite albums now, one of my favorite bands. So...thank you for introducing me.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, sounding in awe, “no problem.”

They pulled into Michael’s driveway after five more minutes of silence. Stan looked at them, smiled that stupid smile that made them weak.

“Thanks for the ride,” Michael said.

“No problem at all,” Stan said. “I...really enjoyed getting to talk to you guys again. If you ever need another ride, you should call me. I’m always stuck in tutoring, so I’ll always be around.”

“We don’t have your number,” Pete said.

Stan nodded. “Oh, right. I can give it to you. Only if you want?”

It was embarrassing how fast Pete extended his phone. Stan only exhaled a sweet laugh. They exchanged numbers, a blush on Pete’s face the entire time.

“Thank you,” Pete said as he and Michael got out of the creaky pickup. Stan waved after them, a kind look in his eyes.

When they got into Michael’s house, they stood there for the longest time, mouths agape as they simply stared at each other.

“What the fuck just happened?” Pete said.

“I have no fucking idea,” Michael said.

It was surreal actually getting texts from Stan.

At first, it was just a quick ‘ _hi! wanted to make sure this was the right number ;P_ ’ and then it evolved into talk about school, then actual conversation.

Both Michael and Pete texted Stan from seven pm to past midnight that night. Both goths were giddy for the first time ever.

For the next few days, they both texted the boy they hadn’t talked to in forever. They caught up, asked each other what they had been up to all this time, got to know each other all over again.

They told their favorite memories of when they used to hang out. They made jokes. They flirted a little.

Maybe it was wrong flirting with him. It was kinda shitty, the couple knew that.

He was dating Wendy. It still hurt but that didn’t mean they had to be assholes to a girl they had never really talked to. They tried to keep their flirting under control, appropriate, innocent. It was fine.

Thank God for Art Club.

They were busy motherfuckers, going to art museums and all across town on little sight seeing trips, subsequently leaving Pete and Michael without a ride home. And Stan did seem to be in tutoring all the time, making him readily available.

Stan was their ride most days out of the week. Most of the awkwardness was gone. They listened to that Bauhaus CD and talked and laughed.

They still flirted.

When Stan shifted gears while driving, his knuckles on the stick shift would brush the inside of Pete’s thigh given that he had to sit with a leg on either side of the inconveniently placed stick.

It made Pete blush. It made Michael smile knowingly.

Stan would walk too close to Michael when they were walking to the car, finger’s brushing Michael’s or shoulder bumping into his. The goth would smile and would try not to swing his hand in such a way that their fingers lightly hooked together. He succeeded in warding off the temptation most of the time.

Stan’s flirty actions were highly suspicious but none of them ever said anything, not until they were behind closed doors, where Pete and Michael would ramble to each other like excited school girls over the cute football player boy they were in love with.

They had taken to hanging out outside of school again.

They spent some evenings together, The Cure playing on Michael’s record player while Pete tutored Stan in English. It was more difficult than Pete thought it would be, especially considering the fact that Stan was looking at him more than he was the open text book between them.

They fell back into friendship, talking and texting and discussing worries and interests they had. Those romantic feeling were still there but the couple never said anything about it.

Stan was the first one to say something.

“Do you like me?” Stan asked on the seventh week of driving them home.

They had felt themselves freeze.

Neither of them spoke. They glanced at each other but they couldn’t come up with an answer. Should they say it? Was now the right time? Did they want to ruin everything? Was there anything to really ruin?

“Of course we like you,” Michael said, voice strained and laugh forced. “We’re hanging out again. We’re friends.”

Stan sighed through his nose, looking a little nervous as he stared ahead of him at the road. “I mean...do you like me more than a friend?”

They didn’t speak. They couldn’t. It was too terrifying.

Pete had taken to picking at his fingernails and biting his bottom lip. Michael had taken to looking out the window with his shoulder’s tight. The tense silence was horrifying.

They stewed in their anxiety for the rest of the car ride that stretched on for twelve minutes. Every second was difficult.

Stan parked in Michael’s driveway.

Michael didn’t move to open the door. He stayed looking out the window, staring, waiting, unsure of what to say before they left, if they should say anything at all.

Stan sighed.

“I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he said solemnly. “I...wanted to put it out there and just let you know that...I like you- both of you. More than just friends. So. I just wanted to tell you that. I think you deserve to know how I feel now that we’re friends again.”

Silence.

“Is this a joke?” Michael didn’t look from the window. He didn’t even move to make eye contact. “Are you making fun of us?”

Stan blinked. “What?”

“You’re making fun of us, aren’t you?” Pete said, picking at his nails till they were red and bleeding. “You don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” Stan had never sounded so serious. His fingers lightly touched Pete’s thigh. “You have no idea how much I mean it.”

Finally, the couple looked over to their left to look at him. Stan looked between them with a worried look on his face. He blinked his glassy eyes, fidgeted with his fingers, looked at his lap, sighed again.

“Why us?” Pete asked. “You didn't even talk to us for...fucking forever.”

Stan looked between them. “I met you when I was a fucking mess, and you two showed me friendship and care and understanding in your own way. I had never felt a connection like that before.”

He laughed. “You know, you two were a part of me realizing I was bisexual. I might have had a crush on you both and that was confusing for a really long time.” He nodded absently. “I only made peace with my sexual preferences about two years ago after some soul searching and experimenting, but, whatever.”

“I still like you. I've liked you for so long,” Stan said. “You’ve both been like an itch in my chest. Kinda quiet, but always there. Then I got Biology with you, Michael, and English with you, Pete, and then that itch was tearing me apart. I'm not good with, uh, words, not like you guys. I don't know if I'm making sense. Sorry.”

He looked at them. They stared back.

Stan sighed, shook his head as he looked down at his lap. “I'm sorry, I-”

“We like you too,” Pete whispered. Stan looked up.

Anxiety and nervousness first and then his tense expression melted. The look of his face was beautiful. Relaxed, soft and vulnerable, grateful, at peace. Adoring.

“We’ve liked you for a while now, too,” Michael said.

“For a really long while,” Pete added. He kinda felt like crying but he wasn’t going to allow himself to do that because that was fucking stupid.

Stan smiled as he looked at the both of them, bright and bashful and sweet. Pete reached out for his hand. Their hands fit perfectly together.

“I, uh, really want to kiss you right now,” Stan said with a blush dusting his cheeks, not specifying which one of them, therefore alluding to the both of them, “but I'm, uh, not going to do that because that would be unfair to Wendy.”

Oh yeah. Wendy.

Pete could feel his heart shatter but he stayed mature and seemingly unaffected. He gave a nod and didn't say a word. They left the car with nothing more than a smile and promptly freaked out when they entered Michael’s house.

The next day at school was strange.

It was like Armageddon. They immediately thought Stan’s little gang was up to their old shenanigans but it turned out to be new shenanigans, solely Stan’s.

“ _Stan broke up with Wendy!_ ” they heard girls in the hall whisper to each other. Pete’s heart had raced. He had squeezed Michael’s hand hard.

It was a whole two weeks of nothing from Stan, no explanation, no deep conversation. The good morning texts he sent the both of them in a group chat, however, assured them that Stan was fine but just needed to do things at his own pace for the moment.

He and Wendy had dated most of middle school and for a year and half or something in high school- of course it would take time.

Pete expected English to be worse than it was.

Stan and Wendy sat beside each other in English but didn’t talk to each other. It didn’t seem malicious, rather, boredom with the other. They just weren’t interested in the other anymore.

Pete guessed their relationship did seem a little forced. It was shallow, in a sense. They were together because it made other people awe, made people cheer- they were like a celebrity couple that was fun but outdated.

The feelings they had for each other had long been gone. Familiarity was the only thing they felt for the other and that was lame.

The only one Stan really talked to in English after the breakup was Pete and that was to ask him, every single day, how he was as soon as he walked in.

“Hey, Pete. How are you?”

“Uh...fine.”

“Cool.”

It went like that for a week and a half. It made both of them smile and made Pete, specifically, blush dumb.

Eventually, they started to laugh quietly after Stan asked the same stupid question every single day, like it was some kind of hilarious inside joke. It kinda was.

Wendy didn’t care about their giggling. She seemed to have moved on already, reportedly going out with Token not even three days after Stan had broken up with her.

She seemed happier. Stan seemed happier. Stan and Wendy were moving on.

Pete and Michael felt like they were living in a reality television show. Never had they actually cared about school drama but this was their life now.

Actually being visible as they walked to Stan’s car together was strange. People looked at them, never said anything. It wasn't their business.

“Hey.”

The goth boys looked over at Stan from the passenger seats of his truck. Pete turned down the radio.

“Would you both like to go out to dinner with me this weekend?” Stan said. “Like, nothing big. A casual thing. We could eat at Perkins. I know you guys like that place and they have pancakes.”

They did end up having pancakes. Three orders and two bottomless cups of coffee and one soda. Their midnight dinner was delicious.

Stan’s lips tasted like syrup the first time Pete and Michael ever kissed him. Two in the morning under the moon, coffee and cigarettes and syrup on their tongues in a Perkins parking lot.

It was the best thing they had ever tasted.

They never wanted to leave that taste. They didn’t have to, not when Stan asked them if they should keep doing this, the hanging out thing, eating out thing, the kissing thing.

They keep doing all those things and more through senior year, past graduation, now into Stan’s first year of college.

It's perfect.

Pete smiles to himself, still shivering on the sofa, as he thinks about how fucking weird life is for the impossible to actually happen in such a beautiful and strange way.

They work together. It's a fucking mystery how they do.

The front door unlocks. Pete looks up.

“Oh my God,” Michael says as he finishes opening up the door for Stan, immediately pecking his lips as a hello before placing a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder to usher him more quickly inside, “please hurry. Red hasn't stopped pouting since you left.”

That fact, combined with the old nickname, only makes Pete pout harder.

His lovers step into the room. Stan's almost as tall as Michael. He's ditched most of the preppy shit since high school but he can't help himself from wearing a semi-bright shirt under his old high school varsity jacket.

He looks good tonight.

“Hey, baby,” Stan says as he shucks off his jacket and lays it on the armchair. He slides onto the couch beside Pete and wraps affectionate arms around him, lips pressing against the side of his head.

“What's up, Pete?” he says. “You actually missed me?”

Pete rolls his eyes, shrugs. He hides his smile against his boyfriend’s chest and gently pushes at him.

“No way! You _actually_ miss me?!” Stan teases, nipping the shell of his ear. “You must like me or something.”

Stan looks up at Michael. “Whatta you think, Michael? You think Pete might like me?”

Michael snorts from the kitchen. “He's in love with you.”

Pete whines brattily against his boyfriend’s chest. Stan just loves teasing him. “I love you too, Pete. So much.”

“Love you,” Pete mumbles against him, much too embarrassed to actually say it out loud like Stan does.

“Oof, you’re kinda cold, kid,” Stan says, hands running up and down Pete’s goosebump-y arms.

Pete nods with a yawn, shivering some more. “My toes feel like they’re gonna fucking fall off.”

Stan glances down at his lover’s feet, currently covered in comically fuzzy socks with pink polka dots and zebra print.

“Those are some pretty socks, Red,” Stan hums, not mocking, never mocking. “They’re yours?”

“They were Ike’s Christmas gift to Firkle, but Firkle regifted them to me,” Michael says from another room over. “Glad I ended up keeping them.”

“Pete always gets cold,” Stan says sweetly. He looks to his shivering boyfriend, peppering kisses across his face playfully. “Why do you get so cold, huh, huh?”

Pete snickers and pushes his boyfriend back. Stan follows the movement, leaning back so he's laying down with his head resting on the armrest. The goth lays down atop him, turning so his face is hidden against his boyfriend's neck.

Stan smells of cologne. Pete would complain that he's falling into society’s meaningless consumerist culture by buying stupid fragrances when he smells good already but he can't bring himself to complain when he actually loves how it smells.

The woodsy scent makes him hot, makes him blush. He licks Stan’s pulse with a flat tongue and nearly moans at the tangy taste of cologne.

“Pete…” Stan sighs lowly. His hand runs down Pete’s back till he gets to the back of his jeans. The taller man toys with the waistband, fingers barely dipping under the dark denim in silent question.

“Mm, not tonight,” Pete murmurs sleepily against his neck, pressing a chaste kiss against the warm skin. “Jus’ wanna cuddle.”

Stan brings his hand back up and presses a loving kiss onto the red high highlight of his hair. “That's perfectly fine; I'm a fuckin’ great cuddler.”

Pete laughs because that is very true.

Stan’s arms are wrapped around him, the other man murmuring into his hair as he turns to look diagonally behind the couch where Michael stands in the kitchen.

He sees the look of relief that crosses the man’s face when he locates his metal lighter on the messy countertop. So that's what he was looking for.

The taller goth grabs his pack of smokes from his pocket and he's already on his way to the back door when Pete calls out to him.

“Michael,” Pete puts on his babydoll voice, the quiet, sweet one, and blinks up at his other boyfriend with soft brown eyes. “Are you gonna cuddle with us?”

It's not the fact that he's afraid of the cold that will rush in the minute Michael opens that door but rather the fact that he's only now getting warm and he wants to share in the coziness with both of his boyfriends.

Michael sighs, puts down his pack of cigarettes on the table before shuffling over to them.

“Yay!” Stan says playfully and the other two are reminded of just how much of a nerd their boyfriend is. They kinda love it.

When he reaches the couch, the taller goth bends down. Pete meets him. They share a tender kiss that is sticky and warm and vaguely tastes of tobacco.

“My muse,” Michael murmurs against his lips, licking at Pete’s bottom lip reverently. He tilts his head to the right so he can connect his lips to Stan’s. It's slow, full of love and want.

“My light,” Michael sighs against him.

Pete had been struggling with his poetry all night but here Michael is, effortless with beautiful words.

The shorter goth reaches for his boyfriend’s hand and Michael links their fingers. He comes closer, lifting Stan’s and Pete’s legs so he can slip under them. He lays their legs in his lap and comes down once again to press a kiss to Pete’s lips, then the tip of Stan’s nose.

Pete can feel every time Stan’s chest rises and falls from his position atop him. There’s a hand on his lower back too, stroking back and forth warmly. He sighs, burying his face further into Stan and bringing up his freezing feet into Michael’s lap.

“How was class tonight, darling?” Michael queries as he massages Pete’s feet.

“Fine,” Stan says. “Had a pop quiz and I was totally freaking out about it but I ended up knowing all the answers. Our professor never used to give us fucking pop quizzes; she only started to do it when she heard another Anatomy teacher was doing it.”

“What a conformist,” Michael says. They laugh.

Pete likes hearing Stan talk.

His voice is low, almost as low as Michael's and it buzzes against his cheek where he's resting just below his collarbone.

Pete’s black-painted fingernail circles Stan’s nipple through his shirt absently as he goes on and on about some annoying guy in his class. Pete smiles in adoration when the sensitive bud goes hard under his finger.

Stan’s fingers tangle in his hair subconsciously as he continues about the guy who almost got kicked out of class for spilling soda all over his desk. Pete gently squeezes his boyfriend’s nipple and tugs on it and Stan can't help but pause his story so he can gasp lightly.

“Go on,” Pete prompts when Stan stops talking. He gives another tiny squeeze, fingernail scratching skin through his shirt.

“You're distracting me,” Stan says with a smile.

“Mm,” Pete hums, nestling closer to him and his finger still running back and forth over his nipple, although, it's more gentle and adoring now, “please keep talking. Missed you…”

Lips press against his hair. “Missed you too, Pete.”

Stan goes on about what he learned- skeletal system shit. He has a lot to study. He’ll show them later what he’s learning, right now he’s just too tired.

“What’d you guys do tonight?” Stan asks.

“Looked for my zippo for more than hour,” Michael says. “He wrote.”

Stan’s chin nudges the top of Pete’s head when he looks down. “What'd you write tonight, babe?”

“Shit,” Pete grumbles.

“Nuh-uh,” Stan says. “I’m sure it’s great.”

“It’s garbage.”

“Shush, you,” Stan says with an arm wrapping tighter around him.

“He gets pouty when he’s tired, right?” Michael asks.

“Oh yeah,” Stan affirms. “Completely.”

“Shut up,” Pete says. “I’m right here; stop talking about me when I’m right here.”

“Do you want us to wait till you’re not around?” Stan says.

Pete hums. “Yeah.”

Michael talks a little about a new album that’s coming out by one of their favorite bands. Stan asks what they need from the grocery store. Cigarettes make it onto the list, as does lube.

They both talk amongst themselves about everything and nothing and leave Pete alone so he can doze in and out and warm up.

It’s perfect. It’s enough.

There’s a hand in his hair and an arm wrapped tightly around him. His feet are being rubbed and he’s so comfortable.

“Hey, Pete,” Stan says. “How are you?”

They both smile and Pete is reminded of how far they’ve come. It’s fucking insane.

“So warm,” Pete says. Stan presses a kiss to his temple. Michael presses a kiss to the back of his hand.

 _And so in love_ , Pete wants to say, but c'mon- that's too fucking cheesy.


End file.
